


Saviour

by servatia83



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, M/M, Pon Farr, spones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5804836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servatia83/pseuds/servatia83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock's in pon farr and it's being taken care of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saviour

**Author's Note:**

> ((I could never quite believe that a bit of fighting in the sand can soothe the pon farr. So someone must have taken care of Spock. Take note that in my head-canon Vulcans are actually cooler than humans. The scientist by inheritance if not by degree inside me refuses to imagine them warmer, given all we know about them.  
> This was originally published in Spiced Peaches XXXVII.))

Warm. So incredibly warm, seeming warmer and warmer now the fever is abating. So exquisite it is almost possible to forget to move. Almost. All that matters is the surrounding heat. The scent of human sweat. The thick, warm fluid dribbling from you, from my saviour. This isn’t a sacrifice, as it had seemed at first. Needed, yes, but clearly this need goes two ways. Your red blood doesn’t make its demands anywhere nearly as fiercely as the green one scorching through my veins, but the tangible desperation is not mine. It belongs to you, my human, my incredible, irritating, bright human, now straddling me, clutching me, saving me.

My eyes open when the other senses aren’t enough. They meet bright blue. My name tumbles from your swollen lips before they lock to mine, our saliva mingling, our tongues dancing wildly. Perhaps if the imminent explosion within me is contained, refused, this will last forever.

Words in your strange language, learned long ago and spoken more perfectly than by many natives, now fall opaque, irrelevant in this world of need. But even if the words aren’t clear, the intent is. The explosion will not mark an ending. It will be but the start, and it can no longer be stalled. Blue eyes close at the peak of your pleasure, and the sensation that spreads to me tears the release from my loins, ending the pain.

You can leave, but you do not. Uncertainty fills me. Yours, not mine.

I am certain. I hold you. And you smile.


End file.
